If the Mariners were born 25 years ago, Jones was the first baby in the nursery.

No one had heard of him. He arrived in Seattle from Kansas City with 11 hits in the big leagues, joining the team as the No. 1 choice in the 1976 expansion draft.

You might not remember some of his teammates, players like Lee Stanton and Dan Meyer, who had better seasons statistically. But if you were here during that unusually hot summer of '77, you have not forgotten Ruppert Jones.

Ichiro is Ichiro and Edgar is Edgar, but long ago, Seattle was already on a first-name basis with the original Mariner.

"ROOP! ROOP! ROOP!"

Every time the 22-year-old stepped to the plate or made a great catch or walked out of the dugout. Every time "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" was played in the Kingdome, no one rooted for the home team. They "Roop, Roop, Rooped for the Mariners," changing the lyrics to express their adulation.

It was not a seventh-inning stretch to suggest that Jones was the most popular player on the team.

Now his daughter is 22. His son is 18. His life is good.

"I'm happy as a pig in slop," he said.

Jones, 46, lives in Rancho Bernardo, a suburb northeast of San Diego. He sells employee benefits to government contractors for The Boon Group. He fell into the insurance job 13 years ago when the California Angels said he wasn't good enough to play major league baseball anymore.

"I never retired," Jones said. "They just told me to come home."

Come home? To what?

"I wasn't really prepared for life after baseball," he said.

In 1988, Jones had a miserable marriage and no real-world skills. He also had two kids who needed their father to get it together. So he did.

"I was married to the wrong person," Jones said. "It was a divorce that needed to happen."

But if it were up to Jones, it never would have. He grew up without a father, raised by his mom and stepdad. Damned if his kids were going to be subjected to something like that.

"I would not have divorced because I did not want to leave the kids," he said. "All of a sudden, when your mom and dad are not together anymore, it's traumatic. Their lives are built around you. The kids suffer as much as you do."

When his wife divorced him, Jones went to work on every phase of his game that didn't involve hitting and throwing.

But he continued to run, almost everywhere, trying to keep up. That's what happens when your title changes from baseball player to single dad. His ex-wife moved to Northern California and left the kids with Jones.

"I had to be a mom and a father, chauffeur, maid and cook," he said. "I did the best I could. I was there for them. It was a wake-up call. I had to start giving."

Until that time, Jones was mostly a taker, pampered as a player and accustomed to that kind of treatment.

"I was always into Ruppert," Jones said. "It was no longer me first. You don't have people doing things for you. You've got to give more if you want to be successful."

In 1977, the Mariners went 64-98, providing more bloopers than highlights. Jones was the only constant source of excitement, flagging down sinking line drives, beating out infield hits, knocking the ball over the Kingdome's tall right-field wall.

Jones averaged .263 and hit 24 home runs, one of which ended Dennis Eckersley's bid to break Cy Young's record of 23 consecutive hitless innings. Another was an inside-the-parker off Sparky Lyle.

Throughout the season, playing largely in front of small crowds, Jones heard the constant chants of his name: "ROOP! ROOP! ROOP!"

"That was catchy," Jones said. "A ballplayer wants to be accepted. It made me feel accepted."

"I was a country boy living in the city, different than everyone else," he said. "What acceptance I got, I earned on the playing field."

He starred in baseball, basketball and football, earning all-East Bay honors in every sport. He received scholarship offers to play football at Oregon State, Arizona State and Cal, but focused on baseball because he was a better outfielder than wide receiver.

Jones was chosen by Kansas City in the third round of the 1973 draft and signed for $22,000. He played in the Royals' minor-league system for the better part of four years. Upon being called to the majors, Jones singled in his first at-bat against Gaylord Perry.

The next call came from the Mariners.

A few years ago, Jones went to work out like he always does at 24-Hour Fitness in Rancho Bernardo. He looked over and saw an attractive woman on a stair machine. He introduced himself and one thing led to another marriage.

They will celebrate their second anniversary this month. Jones believes something this special would have never happened were it not for a post-baseball epiphany, when "me" and "I" were replaced by "we" and "us."

"I developed into a better person," Jones said. "It helped me tremendously in my second marriage. I'd tell my wife how I was and she'll say, 'I'm so glad I didn't know you then.'"

Look at him now: still a sports nut and golf addict, holding a "5 to 10" handicap, shooting a 76 the other day. He follows the Padres and Chargers and believes in Ryan Leaf, the former Washington State quarterback who played in San Diego and has since relocated to Tampa Bay. Maybe it's because he remembers what it's like to be young and full of yourself.

Jones likes the Mariners, saying: "They play a team game, the way it's supposed to be played. They get guys on base and chase 'em around."

Mostly, Jones watches games in disbelief. He sees players swinging at the first pitch when their team is three runs behind. He sees players swinging for home runs when they should be trying to move the runner from second to third.

He doesn't get it, but people don't care about his opinion as much as they used to. No one recognizes him anymore. And that's just fine, because Jones values his privacy.

"Don't you?" he asks.

Jones has only a few friends, none from his baseball days. He prefers to spend the time he has with his family.

He wonders about the criteria by which people are judged, not to mention their misguided priorities.

"There are a lot of rich people and two-income families," he said. "They've got a lot of money, but you think the kids are happy? If you're there for your family, you've got a successful life."

On Sunday, Jones will return to Seattle to participate in All-Star Game festivities.

He has been here recently, when the Kingdome closed, when Safeco Field opened, and last month when his work took him to Port Ludlow on the Olympic Peninsula.

"It was beautiful," Jones said. "I called my wife and told her we might have to think about living here someday."

He is forthcoming -- to a point. Until you ask him where he's staying.

"Downtown," he says.

"Which hotel?

"Downtown," he repeats, clearly not wanting to be bothered.

But if you're looking for Ruppert Jones, you can still find him.

"I'll be the bald-headed black guy," he says, "with a smile on his face."